My 15

We are in a stretch of five games in nine days, two varsity and three freshmen games — including a designated “D” game that found us at CBC yet again Sept. 19, looking west into a late-summer setting sun.

So that’s why I didn’t see The Fumble Recovery (right). Yeah, let’s blame it on the sun.

D games are set in the schedule so that everyone gets to play, even the kids who might be new to the game and are still getting used to the feel of pads on their shoulders and the mouthpiece in their teeth.

But it’s freshman football. If the varsity is “The Show” for high school players, freshman football is the scrub league, not yet ready for prime time.

So that’s why it’s OK for a volunteer-official crew of assistants and school officials to referee the game when the designated crew failed to show up, and for little brothers and sisters to conduct their own bout of touch football on the south end of the track. It’s freshman football. It’s supposed to be an afternoon frolic.

And freshman football is why a few of the players share a number. On this team, there are two 13 jerseys, two 14s, two 15s –one of which I find in my wash machine on a weekly basis — two 16s, two 17s, two 18s and two 19s. And for the mom, that’s a bit confusing. Confusing for the announcers, too, and the friends and relatives who come to the game asking, “Is that him?”

Lucky for me, the “other 15” likes to let his belt hang out like it’s flag football, so that’s the first clue. But if I know My 15 is out there, I can spot his mannerisms and his walk a grandstand away.

Trouble was, in this game so many kids were being subbed in and out I had a hard time following the action. My 15 got in on a lot of special teams plays, made some tackles and hits, too. I have to admit hearing “Tackle by Jack McCarthy!” from the deep-voiced PA announcer made my heart stop for a split-second. And when the other 15, Joe Guyol, came on the field, made a tackle of his own and the announcer said, “Tackle by Jack McCarthy!” I thought, “Somewhere in the stands there’s a mom who wants to yell, ‘That’s MY son!’ ”

And I don’t blame her one bit.

The score? Let’s just say it’s not important. Of course, if they won, it’d be very important. But with all due respect to the fine young men of Christian Brothers College High School, I am getting tired of CBC being SLUH-and-O.

What was important were the moments of the game from a late-summer September afternoon that you want to wrap up and keep forever.

Moments such as a scrappy little wide receiver named Danny Tarlas hauling in two catches for big yardage, even being double-teamed.

Or another receiver, Ben Keeven, catching a long pass late in the game while his joyful parents stand up and cheer.

Or linebacker/fullback/receiver/everyman Arthur Larson (left) getting his first real playing time and learning on the job, catching two short passes when they were sorely needed. In the stands watching: Two grandmas, two parents and one younger brother, Thomas, who calls Arthur “Muggsy”. (Arthur returns the favor by calling Thomas “Lumpy”.)

Or receiver/safety Mike Winkelmann digging in while his five younger brothers and sisters ran around the field with joyful abandon.

Or The Fumble Recovery. It happened late in the game as CBC was driving toward the north endzone for another touchdown. I saw the ball fall out, and I saw the scrum, and suddenly SLUH had the ball back. I don’t think the announcers could tell exactly who recovered it either, because it was never announced. But someone was getting helmet taps and pats on the back on the far sideline.

It was the kid whose jersey I washed that night. My 15.

“One of the linebackers stripped it,” Jack said after the game, with a big smile on his face. “I just pounced on it.”

“Do you want to call Dad?” I said as we got in the car. Dad was in Hillsboro, Mo., coaching the SLUH JV soccer team in a tournament.

“No,” he said. “I want to tell him this in person.”

I love freshman football.